


Mian He, Ahjuma, Hangul Mal Mullayo

by Dira Sudis (dsudis)



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-27
Updated: 2009-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-03 21:32:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/pseuds/Dira%20Sudis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cho was freaking out about taking Jane to meet his parents, in the most entertainingly overt manner yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mian He, Ahjuma, Hangul Mal Mullayo

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Простите, мэм, я не говорю по-корейски](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6125125) by [Fotini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fotini/pseuds/Fotini)



> * I'm Sorry, Ma'am, I Don't Speak Korean
> 
> Disclaimer: It has been made increasingly apparent to me over time that not only the title but everything else in this story relating to the Korean language is incorrect. Apologies for those who have the story ruined by those inaccuracies, and everyone else, please do not take this story as fact on those points!
> 
> Many Thanks to Miss Molly Etc for all her help with this story!

"Oh, shit. _Shit_."

Jane looked over to find that Cho was indulging in a facial expression: not just any facial expression, either, but one bordering on genuine panic, and his grip on the festively-wrapped bottle of wine had shifted from carefully polite to unconsciously weapon-brandishing. Clearly that meant there was no actual, physical danger--actual, physical danger had a wonderful focusing effect on Cho. Also, as they were standing on the sidewalk less than a hundred feet from Cho's parents' home in broad daylight and neither of them had any current reason to expect to be victims of violence, actual, physical danger was highly unlikely.

That meant it was just Cho freaking out about taking Jane to meet his parents, in the most entertainingly overt manner yet.

Jane smiled.

"Shoot me." Cho turned back toward the car. "Get my backup piece from the glove compartment and shoot me. It's the only way."

"Cho, come on," Jane chided gently. "Violence is never the only solution. What is it?"

"I just realized something important," Cho said. He was calming down, though, getting his expression under control. He tucked the bottle back under his arm, though his knuckles still stood out hard from the strength of his grip. "I just realized I always talk about you in English to my parents."

"Well, I'm a white guy, I can see how that would happen," Jane said cheerfully. He was pretty sure he knew where this was going--it had occurred to him last week, in fact, when he overheard Cho dropping into English on the phone with his parents, a conversation from which he had emerged with this very dinner invitation. Still, it was something Cho needed to work out for himself.

"I play the pronoun game in English," Cho said. "I play the pronoun game in English compulsively."

"Not in Korean, huh?"

"It's harder in Korean," Cho said, almost back to his comfortably blank expression. He glanced down at the bottle and deliberately rearranged his grip. "But I talk about you in English, and I play the pronoun game in English, and I call you Jane. To my parents. Who are going to think I'm bringing a girl home."

"Well, I hope they think you're bringing a woman home," Jane corrected patiently. "Unless they think you're cutting to the chase and adopting as a single father."

Cho shot him a quick sideways look, and registered his realization by going fully interrogation-room inscrutable. He turned slightly toward Jane on the sidewalk. "You knew I did it. You couldn't mention it to me before now?"

Jane shrugged. "Far be it from me to interfere in your relationship with your parents."

Cho glanced in the direction of the car, and swung the wine bottle as-if-casually. "If you shoot me, I can explain this to them before you meet them."

"I'm sure the sound of the gunshot would bring them running, and then you'd not only have to explain that you're dating a guy, you'd have to explain that you're dating the guy who shot you in the street in front of their house."

Cho seemed to weigh those possibilities for a few seconds, then sighed and faced toward his parents' house again. "It's not that they have anything against me dating men, really, it's just that they're all geared up for a potential future mother of their grandchildren. They get all ... excited, when I date women."

"Hey, I could still be the future co-parent of their grandchildren," Jane said lightly. "Once we catch Red John, I'll be ready to leave the CBI, stay home, write books, we could--"

That was as far as he got before Cho backed him forcibly up against a tree, slapping a hand over his mouth, the wine bottle a blunt pressure against his stomach. Jane was genuinely startled, and kept still. Cho was utterly expressionless, harder to read even than the first night they'd hooked up. And then, very deliberately, Cho looked disappointed.

It hit Jane, then, and he realized what he'd just blithely said--not to Cho's parents, but to Cho, alone here on the street.

"Yeah," Cho said. "You don't do that to me. I'm not a mark. You can treat my parents like marks, especially since I set you up for a pretty awkward situation here. I'll translate for you so you can treat my grandmother like a mark, she'll love it and she'll play you right back. You can say what you want to my cousins. That's fine. But not me. You don't talk to me like that."

Jane pressed his lips to Cho's palm, nodding, and when Cho stepped back and let go, Jane turned away. He took a deep breath and let the on-the-job disconnect in his brain finish closing, let himself realize that he'd just casually--cavalierly--proposed to Cho that they enter into a long-term relationship extending further into the future than Jane could actually imagine living.

He'd just offered _children_. He let the usual shock of pain wash over him as he thought of his daughter. He remembered holding her when she was a baby, rocking her to sleep while he did one more little bit of research to prepare for a job. She'd been there in his arms, warm and breathing and beautiful, and he'd been watching someone else's face like it mattered more. She had died because of what he did, while he was watching someone else's face.

That kind of father should never have another child, could never deserve another child. If Cho were one bit less capable of protecting himself, Jane wouldn't dare allow himself even this much of a relationship after what he'd done to his wife. Those were simple facts, absolute truth, and he needed only to touch them for a moment before he put them away again.

He opened his eyes and stared across the street for a moment, and then a woman walked into his field of vision. She looked back over her shoulder, turned, and then a toddler caught up with her, taking the slow, unsteady steps common to drunks and babies. This baby had straight black hair, round cheeks and olive skin, and was in no more danger than anyone on this quiet, sunny street.

Jane smiled, and turned back to Cho, who looked from Jane to the woman and child, back to Jane.

"I'm sorry," Jane said, and offered his hand. Cho took it, turned and began walking toward his parents's house again.

"Hypothetically, though," Jane said. "If there were some kind of crazy comedy movie chain of events and we wound up with a baby--"

Cho squeezed his hand. Jane didn't look at his face. This wasn't about reading Cho, now. It was about giving something to Cho, without strings, because Jane had messed up and hurt him without meaning to.

Jane squeezed back and spoke actual, literal truth. "I'd want the baby to look like you."

Cho snorted, and Jane dared a sideways glance. Cho was smiling a little, starting to relax.

Jane swung their joined hands out of the way and punched Cho in the ribs, hard.

Cho dropped Jane's hand and jumped back, but his face was blank and his voice uninflected as he said, "Why did you do that?"

Jane smiled. "Same reason you asked me to shoot you. The pain will distract you from the drama with your parents."

Cho just stared at him, and then the door of the next house opened, and a lovely Korean woman, readily recognizable by her resemblance both to Cho and to the family photos he had hanging in his apartment, leaned out.

"Kimball, are you going to come in? Is this ... James?"

Jane turned and smiled brightly, ducking his head and directing his gaze slightly downward like a respectful young man. "Patrick Jane, ma'am, Jane like the girl. It's so nice to finally meet you."


End file.
